This fragility of being is solely mine…

hand tossed.

Much like a mistakenly crisp late spring, piney waft.

On which, so much feeds.

…

Or, purposely perpetuated wants…overcoming needs.

…

I can set my sights on a higher power…

that seems often higher and higher.

And, soon out of my reach.

…

Conversely, I can assume the best of intentions from quiet savagery…

the artful being that grows above and below the seed.